


Kevlar Soul

by stillinblossom



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Also each chapter will have specific warnings when needed, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I'll probably add tags as I go, M/M, Non-Chronological, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:15:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillinblossom/pseuds/stillinblossom
Summary: "While he spoke, his palms were turned up in a placating manner that for some reason made Spencer feel closer to crying than he had been all evening. Or perhaps it was the look of concern and care that Derek wore. Possibly it was just Derek, his whole being and how much Spencer ached to take a step closer to feel the literal and figurative warmth that Derek radiated envelop him."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This intended to be Derek and Spencer's story over the years, told in a non-chronological order. But it could also be read as a series of one-shots and drabbles, if you prefer to look at it that way. It's the first time I'm writing for this fandom, and the first time writing anything in far too long, as well. Any criticism is highly appreciated, but please keep in mind that I'm more than a bit rusty. x

**_"You cannot find peace by avoiding life."_ Virginia Woolf**

It shouldn't have taken Spencer more than mere seconds to read through the short letter Gideon had left for him to find in the gloomy cabin. But for once in his life, he had stumbled across a text that he couldn't read with a scientist's clinical distance. His eyes kept slowing down and landing on certain words and fragments; his mind conjuring up the shaking hand and the resigned posture of the man writing them rather than focusing on the choice of words and on analysing all possible interpretations and meanings behind them. It took him another two readings and a number of deep breaths to momentarily regain his footing enough to make the call to Hotch - yes, Gideon was gone, and no, from a linguistic standpoint it did not read as a suicide note or a letter written under any kind of duress, but rather a letter from someone who was leaving their old life and everyone in it behind. As if noticing how much effort it took to maintain the calm and measured voice that Spencer was speaking in, Hotch kept the conversation short and to the point, and let Spencer off the hook with an exhortation to "drive safe" and "get some sleep". The familiar words, Spencer thought, seemed to have a whole other weight to them this time. 

In the dim lighting emitting from an old-fashioned lamp, with the letter still clutched in one hand and his phone in the other, Spencer contemplated dialling another number. Suddenly the silence in the cabin felt like it stretched on forever, like time had stopped when Spencer had sat down and read the words "I knew it would be you who would come to the cabin to check on me", and then hadn't thought to start again. The letter was getting crumpled from how hard he was gripping it, and suddenly a phone call wasn't enough. He needed to stand in front of someone, to see that time hadn't stopped while he sat at the patinated wooden table reading the letter. He needed a confirmation that he himself hadn't ceased to be just become it felt like the life he knew had been ripped from him. That's how he found himself standing outside of Derek's door at the late hour, trying to steady himself enough to knock on it the same way he'd steadied himself before making the call to Hotch before. The raps of his knuckles sounded loud and intrusive when it broke the silence of the late hour. Spencer forced himself to take deep breath while he listened to Clooney's barking followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Spencer, true to his habits, took in several things at once when the door opened. The contrast of the formality of the shirt Derek was wearing and the number of buttons undone, followed by the miniscule difference in his posture - he would go from suave charm to a rigid professionalism with just the tiniest adjustment, Spencer noted. Thirdly, he noticed the shoes that lay next to where Derek stood. They were heels, probably around 4 inches and likely no larger than a size 6 or 6.5. He decided that they most likely belonged to a petite woman with a conventional but striking beauty - not so much because science told him it would, but rather because that was the kind of woman he'd seen Derek approach time and time again.  
"Everything alright?" Derek asked, eyebrows knitting together when he took in Spencer's tense features. "Do we have another case? Hotch didn't call me."  
"Gideon's gone." Spencer blurted, feeling increasingly stupid standing on his colleagues' doorstep late at night when said colleagues obviously had more important things to be doing than talking about work. Spencer wasn't stupid - Gideon leaving might turn his whole world upside down, but the senior profiler's departure was nothing but work to Derek.  
"Gone? Gone how?"  
"He left. There was a note. It said he was sorry, but he still left. Just like that."  
Spencer's voice broke on the last words, and he wished more than ever that he hadn't gone here. He wishes that he'd taken Hotch's advice and gotten some rest and leave it to Hotch to break the news to the team, including Derek, the next day. When he finally chanced a look to see how Derek had taken the words, he was surprised to see a stormy look on his face.  
"He would."  
Spencer was taken aback by the sharpness that the words were spoken with, and despite the crushing disappointment and hurt that he'd felt ever since he opened the letter, he felt defensiveness sprout somewhere deep inside him.  
"Don't. He was the closest thing to a father that I've had since I was ten." He gritted out, and Derek instantly softened.  
"I know, Reid. And I'm sorry, but I just don't think he was a very good one."  
While he spoke, his palms were turned up in a placating manner that for some reason made Spencer feel closer to crying than he had been all evening. Or perhaps it was the look of concern and care that Derek wore. Possibly it was just _Derek_ , his whole being and how much Spencer ached to take a step closer to feel the literal and figurative warmth that Derek radiated envelop him.  
"Why don't you stay here? We can talk some, and you can sleep in the guest room."  
"You have a… guest." Spencer pointed out, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck while he desperately searched for and stumbled over the right word to use. Under any other circumstance he would've been amused and secretly pleased by how Derek seemed to have forgotten about that detail the moment Spencer opened his mouth.  
"Shit, you're right. But it's okay, it's just a first date anyway. I'll tell her something came up and that we need to cut it short. I don't think she's that into me, anyway." Derek shrugged, a small smile in place. Lie, Spencer thought. That had to be a lie, because for all his genius he couldn't wrap his head around the concept that someone could spend any stretch of time soaking up Derek Morgan's undivided attention, and not be into that. But he forced himself to just give a small smile and a nod, shifting from foot to foot while Derek ventured into the living room to tell his guest about how something had come up. Spencer didn't know much about friendship in a hands-on capacity, but he realised that this must be what a real friend does; make time for and offer comfort to a friend who's hurting. Derek - a friend. The word suddenly tasted bitter in his mouth. Spencer was okay with being a _friend_ to Derek most days, ecstatic even. Most of the time he didn't even feel bad for keeping such a large secret from him - the secret about always wanting more, more, and more. But suddenly the secret weighted on him, heavy like never before in the wake of another tragedy being loaded onto his shoulders the same evening. What kind of _friend_ was he, he wondered, who selflessly took and took and yet always secretly yearned for more? 

It didn't take more than ten minutes for Derek to wrap things up with his understanding date, and he was already contemplating the ways to make Spencer look less broken and wild with sorrow than he had been standing at his doorsteps. When he returned to the back of the house, he found the steps he had previously left Spencer on to be empty.

_**"There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep."**_ **Homer**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently writing my master's thesis and just _had_ to write something that wasn't academic text, so this is what happened. This is just fluff, quite possibly of the pointless kind.

_"You must go on a long journey before you can really find out how wonderful home is."_ Tove Jansson

Derek slipped his sunglasses on while exiting the plane, pausing to stretch out the sore muscles of his back and a crick in his neck once his feet hit the tarmac. The case, while long and strenuous, had been concluded with one of the better resolutions they could hope for in their line of work, and the promise of the following two days off warmed him as much as the spring sun. 

Everyone seemed equally eager to enjoy their time off, so they all made quick work of saying goodbye and heading off to their respective vehicles. Or in Reid's case, to Morgan's vehicle, as he had finally gotten comfortable enough to accept the rides that Morgan kept offering up. He had to stifle a smile thinking about how far they'd come from the time when every friendly advance had made Reid skittish and uncomfortable. There was still an element of shyness and bewilderment to their interactions, but at this point Morgan had accepted that as a part of Reid. He'd stopped taking it to heart when an offhand friendly remark would occasionally make Reid's eyebrows knit together with suspicion or confusion. 

The first ten minutes of the ride was spent mostly in silence, broken only by the sound of Reid flipping through the radio stations rapidly until he found one that he deemed acceptable. Morgan had been fully prepared to protest Reid's choice, pretending that it was a true hardship to spend the car ride listening to Beethoven or Vivaldi, but was surprised to hear smooth jazz fill the car. Contempt, he hummed along, noting out of the corner of his eye that Reid had closed his eyes and was drumming his finger against his thigh. Despite having put several thousands of miles and hours between themselves and the case during the plane ride, he realised that he'd still been able to put more mental distance to it in the mere thirty minutes since they landed. He was interrupted from any further musings by Reid clearing his throat.  
"Do you have any plans for when you get home?" he asked, a hint of nerves in his voice that Morgan recognized by now. He risked a glance at Reid, seeing that he was busying himself with polishing his glasses with the fabric of the sweater vest he was wearing. Those glasses that Morgan had teased Reid about being old-fashioned, back when he was still fresh out of the academy, until Reid had found his voice one day and lectured him on fashion, while also managing to take a dig at Morgan's own fashion sense. ("Actually, those are Clubmasters by the American brand Ray-Ban, and while the style of browline frames originally dates back to the 1950's and the Clubmaster model in particular originated in the 80's it continued to be popular during the early 90's when they were featured on characters in movies such as _Malmcolm X_ and _Falling Down_. Additionally they've had a resurgence in popularity in the early 2000's. Which probably makes it the most fashionable piece in my wardrobe, not to mention more on par with today's trends then the jeans you're currently wearing.") Judging by the blush that slowly crept up his cheeks after he'd had time to take a deep breath following that rant, he hadn't meant to do either. To say that Morgan had never been more proud of him would only be a slight hyperbole.

"I'm going to pick up Clooney from my neighbour first thing, then I'm going to take him to the park and maybe a run. I always feel a bit bad about being away for so long, you know? Even if I'm sure he gets spoiled rotten by Mrs Roberts while I'm away." He felt a bit bad disclosing his plans, because it was clear that Reid was building up to ask him to hang out, something that was clearly no longer going to happen. After a few after work outings as a group during Reid's first six months at the bureau, Morgan had finally managed to convince him to grab a beer or a coffee after work, sometimes even wrangling a meal out of him, just the two of them. It soon became a sort of routine after particularly bad cases, which is why Morgan had been surprised when Reid retreated right back into his shell the first time he suggested that they'd order in and watch a movie at his place. The first time he had been hurt by the obvious fib that Reid had told him to get out of it, the second time he'd been confused and the third time worried. The explanation came in the form of a case where a witness they interviewed had two large dogs, and Reid eventually had to admit to his fear of dogs to get out of having to be the one to enter the house. Though he wasn't sure exactly when, Morgan was sure he'd mentioned Clooney more than once during the time they had worked together, along with the fact that he was a fairly large long-haired German Shephard dog. Despite his teasing and his part in coining "the Reid effect" (and extending it to include babies once it was clear that a toddler they came across in a case wouldn't stop screaming until Reid left the room altogether), he hadn't pushed for Reid to visit him again after that. They'd gone back to hanging out in public spaces. Now the small "oh. oh, okay" from Reid made Morgan feel worse than he had an explanation for. He didn't expect any else to come from Reid on the subject as they entered the freeway and picked up speed.  
"Would it- I mean, I understand if it's not, but would it be okay if I came along?" he asked hesitantly. Once again chancing a look, Morgan was surprised to see Reid turned to him in his seat, looking eager despite the uncertainty in his voice. He realised he'd let the question hang in the air for too long when he saw Reid start to squirm slightly.  
"Yeah, yeah, 'course you can. But kid, you do realise you're going to actually have to meet Clooney then?" Though his eyes were now fixed firmly on the road ahead, he was almost sure that Reid was rolling his eyes at the obvious question.  
"Yes, Morgan." Then after a beat of silence, "I've read a lot about interaction between dogs and humans. Though the research often has major limitation and different studies are downright contradictive, I think I have been able to establish a few things that I've done wrong in my previous attempts to socialize with dogs. This, of course, doesn't take into account the particular traits and personality of your dog, nor the implications of any involuntary reaction of mine such as fear or panic." Sensing how much of a big deal this actually was to Reid, Morgan made a valid effort not to laugh at the scientific approach Spencer had taken to meeting his pet. He couldn't hold back a smile, though.  
"I'm sure it will be fine. I know all dog owners say this, but Clooney is a very friendly dog. He's pretty trusting, and the people that I act comfortable around he generally considers his playmates from the get-go."

He'd given Reid the keys to his house and the permission to go through his kitchen drawers to find Clooney's treats while he jogged over to Mrs Roberts' house to retrieve the dog. His previous bad conscience was replaced with warmth when Clooney came bounding down the front lawn, euphoria written all over him. After chatting with and thanking the elder lady, he put a leash on Clooney and jogged back to his house, suddenly feeling about as euphoric as Clooney about the prospect of introducing two of his best friends. When he reached his lawn and saw Reid sitting on the front porch with a bucket of treats next to him he slowed down. Clooney, upon noticing the same, came to a full stop, head tilted to the side as he tried to figure out the new human sitting outside of his house.  
"Clooney, this is Spencer Reid. I'm sorry, _Doctor_ Spencer Reid." he teased, happy to see Reid crack a smile despite looking nervous still. "Spencer, this is Clooney. No title." They walked the remaining steps up to the porch before he instructed Clooney to sit. Hesitantly, with Morgan instructing him, Reid picked up a treat and offered it to Clooney in his open palm. Though arguably well trained, food was definitely one thing that could make Clooney forget most of his manners, so Morgan breathed a little sign of relief at the careful way the dog plucked the treat from Reid's hand. It was nothing compared to the relief and happiness on Reid's face, though. Morgan was suddenly reminded why "kid" rolled so easily off his tongue - the gleeful smile on Reid's face made him look almost painfully young.  
"I don't think he hates me."  
"I'm _sure_ he doesn't hate you."  
"Is it just as long as I give him treats, though?"  
"Nah. You can go ahead and pet him now. Scratch him behind his ear and then throw the ball around for a while, and I think you'll be in his good graces forever."

~*~*~*~

He closes the front door quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence in the house. There's a bone-deep but not entirely unpleasant exhaustion taking over his body that only a full day at the office followed by several classes in hand-to-hand combat could account for. He'd signed up for teaching a slew of classes knowing Spencer would be away at a consult and wouldn't arrive home until late the same evening. Although judging by the lack of sounds of a dog scrambling to get to the front door, Spencer might've beat him home still. He should probably resent the fact that his dog in many ways seem to be partial to his new master, but every time he sees them huddled up together or playing endless games of fetch it just makes his heart beat that much harder, often thinking back to that very first time they met. The slight tremor in Spencer's hand when he reached out to pet Clooney for the first time; the way Clooney sat stock still apart from his tail wagging back and forth, as if sensing Spencer's hesitance and doing his best to reassure him. 

Derek practically tiptoes into the living room, stopping to take in a scene that should feel familiar now, but somehow still seemed novel. Curled up on the sofa in a way no six feet man should be comfortably able to, is a sleeping Spencer. A book lies open on the floor, his glasses are precariously dangling from his limp grip as if ready to take up reading again any second. And Clooney, curled up in the little space left behind Spencer's knees, his head resting on Spencer's legs. The only acknowledgement of Derek's arrival is the way Clooney peers up at him, waggling his tail lazily but otherwise staying where he is. Content. _Happy_. 

_"Memories and thoughts age, just as people do. But certain thoughts can never age, and certain memories can never fade."_ Haruki Murakami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this to Season 2 Spencer Reid with the glasses and the "boys' regular" haircut. Always and forever in my heart. (And it has nothing to do with me happening to have the same glasses only in gold/brown, shh)


End file.
